


Man on the moon

by PlainJane



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Benedict Cumberbatch - Freeform, First Time, Handcuffs, M/M, One Shot, Top Gear, space
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-14
Updated: 2013-07-14
Packaged: 2017-12-20 05:19:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/883391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlainJane/pseuds/PlainJane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Sherlock handcuffed to a bed. In space. Sort of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Man on the moon

**Author's Note:**

> In response to Benedict Cumberbatch's inadvertent prompt on Top Gear today. A drabble of silliness. Not betaed or Britpicked.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> Now in Russian! http://ficbook.net/readfic/2516512

“I really want to hear the explanation for this.”

“Don’t have one. Move your knee.”

“You move _your_ knee, you great git.” John snapped. “How in the hell did this work out in your head? You bring us to Florida to solve a mysterious theft at NASA. You set up a sting for the thief without telling _anyone_ what you’re about — including me — and…what?”

“What?” Sherlock glared down at him. “How was I to know there was a way to pump this room full of sevoflurane? This is part of the museum, not the secured facility. Completely accessible to the public. I couldn’t have guessed they would have a redundant ventilation system left over from the Cold War. Clearly the thief replaced one of the oxygen canisters.” Sherlock tried to look aloof, which was difficult in their predicament. “And you can’t possibly blame me for this.”

The detective jerked on his wrists, rattling the handcuffs that had him fixed in place…lying face down on top of John. Who was glowering at him. John tugged at his own restraints, which were also fixed to the frame of the memory foam bed they currently occupied.

Sherlock sighed and took in their surroundings. “This is one of the experimental space station designs that was never used. For obvious reasons.”

John glanced at the late 1960s version of a futuristic space bedroom — glass and chrome and far-out lighting. He started to snicker in spite of himself. “Looks like a bloody James Bond film.”

Sherlock laughed with him, the rhythmic movements of their abdomens against one another drawing his attention to something he wished he could ignore. John felt lovely beneath him. Really lovely.

He tried not to look down into the face of his friend. It simply wouldn’t do.

“We could…perhaps if I could shift up enough, you might be able to retrieve my lock-picking kit from my coat pocket with your teeth.”

John’s expression was incredulous. “Really. My teeth. You think that’s likely.”

“Well, it’s worth a try. I don’t hear you suggesting anything!”

“I’m not…what the hell?” John’s head snapped around as the bed began to shimmy beneath them. “Sherlock…?”

“I don’t — I don’t know. There must be some kind of…suspension system to simulate the bed’s position in zero gravity.”

John watched in horror as the bed began to lift, quite effortlessly, off the floor. And them with it. “Fine. Okay. We’ll go with your plan. Let’s just get the hell out of here before anything else happens.”

Sherlock shifted and began to slide his knees up on either side of John’s body. He slid forward until his crotch was at John’s mouth level. He fixed his gaze on the ceiling of the capsule to avoid eye contact. “Th-that’s as close as I can get. Perhaps I can reach it with my left hand.” He struggled for a moment, only just avoiding grinding his groin into John’s face in an effort to get his hips close enough to the spot where his hands where cuffed to the steel bed frame. “No. No use. We’ll have to try the other.”

There was a put-upon sigh; John twisted beneath him and began grabbing at the edge of Sherlock’s coat with his teeth. Sherlock held very still, willing away his body’s response to the sensation of John’s breath so very near his…

“Can you reach it?”

“Hfgkas kn, godajfnk ik.”

“What?’

There was a huffing noise and then a noisy inhale. “I said ‘Hold on, goddamnit!’, you arse. I have my mouth full of bloody wool!”

Sherlock cleared his throat noisily. “Sorry.”

There was a great deal of tugging and struggling and finally he felt John collapse on the bed beneath him.

“Shit!”

Sherlock looked down to find the good doctor red-faced and out of breath.

“Give me a minute and I’ll try again,” John muttered. He peered at Sherlock. “Wait, you’re — Sherlock, are you blushing?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“You are! You look like a virgin in a strip club,” John teased. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen…”

Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut as John trailed off.

“Oh, I see.”

“It’s nothing. A perfectly natural, autonomic response to physical stimuli.”

“My body against your cock,” John said, his voice suddenly very gruff. “You are responding to me touching your cock. I didn’t think…well, this is very interesting.”

“It really isn’t. Don’t concern yourself with my body’s traitorous behaviour. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Should it?”

“What?” Sherlock studied his friend carefully.

“Mean something?”

“I don’t understand.”

“You’re hard because I touched you. Is it just the touch or is it because it’s me?”

Sherlock could feel his face flushing once more. “You,” he whispered. “It’s always been you.”

“I see.” John was very quiet for a moment. “Perhaps I ought to reframe the parameters of your plan, then.”

“Sorry?”

“I can probably get to your pocket with my teeth, in time. But as the thief is likely long gone — though I’m sure you know who it is — we’re not in much of a hurry. And there is something else I can very easily reach with my mouth _right now_.”

“Through my...”

“Yes.”

Sherlock gulped. “D-do you…want to?”

“God, yes.”

Sherlock’s smile as he gazed down at his oldest and only real friend was sincere and joyous. “All right.”

John harrumphed. “Oh, believe me — it’ll be better than all right,” he boasted. “And when I’m done, you can slide your lovely arse back down my body and use those bony hips to return the favour.” He giggled as he began to nuzzle at Sherlock’s merino-covered prick. “I haven’t come in my trousers since I was a teenager.”

“I’ve never…not like this.”

“Ever?”

“Once.”

“Huh. Well we’re in a good spot for exploring new things, aren’t we?” John mouthed over the head of Sherlock’s cock with a wicked gleam in his eyes. “Let’s see if we can’t land you on the moon.”


End file.
